


Fourteen Days and Six Feet Apart

by BluePages



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool (Movieverse), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, But seriously nothing bad happens, COVIDfic, Chicken Soup, Confessions, Couch Cuddles, Deadpool being Deadpool, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I haven't left my house for 22 days so this is what I do now, I'm stuck in my house so I wrote fanfic instead of working, Light Angst, M/M, Nonsense, Pandemics, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Quarantine, Secret Identity, Sexual Tension, Sexy Times, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, The Avengers have it under control, blankies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23434777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluePages/pseuds/BluePages
Summary: The one where Peter gets exposed to a virus during a pandemic, so of course Deadpool wants to quarantine with him.A tale of tacos, hand sanitizer, and secret identities.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Spider-Man/Deadpool
Comments: 50
Kudos: 432





	1. What Happens in Jersey...

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a friend working in public health to cheer her up. It's my first stab at writing fanfic (gulp) and it's total fluff and nonsense. Stay safe everyone and wash your hands!

The rush of air against his face, the swoop in his stomach as he raced toward the ground, the weightlessness as he soared upward towards the sky, these things never changed. But everything else had. The streets below were empty. No pedestrians swarmed the crosswalks. No tangle of cabs honked for dominance. And it was quiet. Sometimes the only things he heard for blocks were the pigeons, or the drone of someone’s TV as they listened to the news with the window open. And it didn’t smell. Gone was the ever present bouquet of car exhaust underlaid with hotdogs and urine. Instead, the only scent that reached his nose as he swung through the skies was crisp, fresh, clean air. 

Peter hated it. 

His destination was in sight. A small redbrick walkup with a rusted fire escape. Peter concentrated, adjusting to account for the grocery bags looped over his arms. For the first few weeks, carrying all that extra weight had really thrown him. He’d accidentally faceplanted into a twenty-foot high mural of Iron Man in Bushwick. Of course someone caught it on camera. And of course Tony had mocked him over text and then retweeted it from the official Avengers account. Because, Tony. 

Peter couldn’t get too angry at him. The fact that Tony was immunocompromised because of the arc reactor meant that he had been one of the first to self-quarantine. The guy didn’t do well with isolation on a good day. Not that he had just been posting memes and making TikToks the whole time (though that did seem to account for half his day). No, he had all of Stark Industries working on an uncountable number of projects to get everyone through this. Rapid tests, vaccines, antivirals, reusable nanotech masks, venitalors that didn’t take three medical personnel to operate. And drone delivery. Though all of that was weeks, if not months, away. Which was why Peter was delivering groceries. 

His suit already had a filtration system on it, and he was pretty sure his healing factor was at least somewhat protective, so once the orders to shelter in place came down, Peter decided to become the Friendly Neighborhood Delivery-Man. At first it had just been him, but then some other local heroes with either a healing factor or the necessary tech joined in. Now they had a pretty decent system going, helping get food and supplies to the elderly and anyone else in need. Admittedly Wolverine could work on his people skills a bit—okay a lot—but no one was going hungry. 

Peter landed nimbly on the fire escape and knocked on the window. “Mrs. Rosenblatt! Delivery!” Five minutes later he was sprawled on the rooftop six bags lighter with a suit now covered in cat hair (Mr. Nimble liked his skritches). The setting sun warmed his cheeks as he pulled his mask up above his nose, took a deep breath and let it out. It had been a good day. 

“Baaaby booooy!”

And it was going to be a terrible night. 

Peter sat up, hastily pulling his mask down just as his personal red clad menace lumbered over the side of the building, greasy takeout bag in hand. 

“No. Go away, Deadpool.”

“But...tacos.” He shook the bag at Peter like he was offering a treat to a finicky cat. 

Peter’s stomach rumbled. Tacos sounded a lot better than the box of mac and cheese he had back in his apartment. He sighed. 

Deadpool knew that sigh; he’d heard it enough times now. With a grin, he took out a bottle of hand sanitizer, squirted it on to his gloves, waited for it to dry, reached into the bag and tossed a foil wrapped packet at Peter, then plopped down on the roof exactly six feet away. 

Not that he needed to. Deadpool’s healing factor meant the virus never got a chance to spread in his body. But Peter was more than happy to follow protocol in this instance. Deadpool had a tendency to be cuddly. 

“I love our little dates.” Deadpool somehow managed to look like he was batting his eyes at Peter through his mask. 

“Not dates.” 

“We’re like those two teens who love each other but can’t get close or they’ll die.” 

“I don’t love you. Neither of us are teens. And you can’t die. So no, we aren’t.” Peter lifted up his mask and shoved a taco in his mouth, failing to suppress a moan as the rich, fatty pork flooded his mouth. He had to stop agreeing to this, but damn if Deadpool didn’t know all the best taco joints in the city. 

Deadpool made a strangled noise. Peter glanced over. 

“What?”

Deadpool shook his head. Peter glared. 

“What.” 

He shook his head again, covering his mouth.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Just say it.” 

“There's-something-else-I-could-put-in-your-mouth-to-make-you-moan-like-that,” Deadpool said in a rush, then flopped back on the roof breathing heavily. “I tried, baby boy. I did.” 

“Just give me another taco.” Deadpool repeated the hand sanitizer routine and tossed one over. 

The mercenary had started popping up on Peter’s patrol months ago. Initially, Peter’s reaction was alarm. He’d heard of the merc, of course, and was prepared to fight him if necessary to keep his city safe. But no attack came, only an endless stream of comments that ranged from mildly flirty to downright obscene. And even those (mostly) stopped once Peter made it clear they weren’t wanted. Since then it had mainly been offers of tacos (which Peter reluctantly accepted) and requests to team up (which Peter categorically rejected). 

Which left him with the question, why the heck was Deadpool following him? Peter had his suspicions. And despite what Deadpool claimed it wasn’t just because he “couldn’t get enough of dat ass.” 

“So, Spidey…”

“Nope.” 

“Aw, but you didn’t even know what I was going to ask.” 

“You were going to ask if I wanted to team up.”

“Ha! No I wasn’t!” Deadpool crowed, triumphant. “I was going to ask if you saw that new video with the puppy that’s best friends with the turtle!” His voice dropped, “and then I was going to ask you if you wanted to team up.” 

Peter pulled his mask back down and sanitized his hands. He noticed Deadpool’s tacos were gone, though he never once saw him take a bite. Weeks of carnitas, asada, and barbacoa and Peter never once saw so much as a glimpse of skin. Peter knew Deadpool was self-conscious about how he looked, but he couldn’t figure out how he managed a half dozen tacos in five minutes. 

Peter stood. “Sorry, Deadpool. Thanks for the tacos, but you know the answer.”

Deadpool scrambled to his feet. “Wait!” 

Peter leapt lightly to the ledge. “And yeah. I saw the video. Totally cute how the puppy turns the turtle back over when he gets flipped upside down.” Peter crouched, ready to spring. 

“What if I told you some asswipe in Jersey was hoarding a garage-full of hand sanitizer!” 

0I0

“I’ve finally died and I must have been a real good boy because this is heaven!” Deadpool shouted, way too loudly next to Peter’s ear. 

This had been a mistake—but the guy with the hoarded hand sanitizer was trying to make a deal that night, Deadpool’s teleporter was on the fritz, and this was the fastest way to get to Jersey. 

Still. It had been a mistake. And not because Peter was worried about getting sick. 

Peter could feel every inch of Deadpool pressed up against him as they swung their way to a garage in Jersey. Peter’s mind had noticed Deadpool was...big...and...muscular before. Of course, it had. It did so with every potential threat, quickly calculating how the best way to effectively nullify it. But having Deadpool right there, wrapped around him, thighs pressing against his sides, arms around his shoulders, made it suddenly very, very clear to Peter’s body as well. 

“Don’t you dare get an erection,” Peter grumbled. 

“I would never!” Deadpool fake gasped. “I am a gentleman.” And Peter was just grateful that Deadpool had thought Peter was talking to him. 

“Unless of course…” and Deadpool’s voice lowered to a rumble, “...that was something you want.” He gave the tiniest wiggle and Peter almost misfired his next web.

This was not good. This was really really really not good. This was the reason he made sure to stay six feet away from Deadpool. Why he rejected his offers to team up. He was trying to avoid exactly this situation. What Peter clearly needed was a date. Not that that was happening in the age of social distancing. But honestly, that was the only explanation for suddenly being attracted to Deadpool. He hadn’t felt human touch for a month. He was surprised he wasn’t finding couch pillows attractive. Peter shoved down a few other reasons his mind offered as to why this might be happening. Reasons that started before the quarantine. Now was not the time to self-analyze. Now was the time to liberate hand sanitizer. 

He was not going to think about how warm Deadpool felt. 

He was not going to think about the adorably-stupid way Deadpool bounced up and down whenever Peter agreed to eat tacos. 

Deadpool was a notorious mercenary who obviously had ulterior motives. 

Peter was lonely. 

Peter couldn’t remember the last hug he had. 

That was the only reason he wanted to melt into Deadpool’s arms like he was taking a warm bath. 

He didn’t actually like--

“Asshole’s house dead ahead, Captain!”

Oh thank god. They were there. 

  
  


0I0

The porch lights were off and the windows were dark as Peter and Deadpool padded silently across the dead grass of the front lawn, keeping to the shadows. To anyone passing by it would look like no one was home, but Peter could hear movement in the garage. 

A few hand signals and the pair split apart, Deadpool taking the side entrance, Peter taking the garage door. He couldn’t help but be impressed how quietly Deadpool could move despite his size, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised—interdimensionally notorious killer and all. Their plan was straight forward; it’s not like they were dealing with a supervillain. Just a dumbass. 

Peter gave Deadpool time to get in place then reached down and ripped up the garage door. 

“Surprise! It’s your Friendly Neighborhood Sider— oof!” 

Peter’s senses screamed as a kick to the chest had him flying backward and slamming on to the cracked concrete of the driveway. He flipped to his feet and swung a right hook. His fist was met by a vibranium one.

Peter froze. 

“Bucky? Uh. Mr...uh..Buchanan?”

The Winter Soldier stepped back. “Kid?” His voice was muffled by the mask covering the lower half of his face.

“Uh...what are you doing here?

“What are you—” 

There was a crash from the side of the house. Peter and Bucky took off running. 

“This night keeps getting better!” 

Deadpool was sprawled on the ground, leering delightedly, with Captain America sitting astride him, fist raised. 

“Stop!” Peter called. “He’s with me!” 

Steve looked up, relaxing as he saw Peter round the corner. 

“Spider-Man? What are you doing here?” 

“Already asked that,” Bucky mumbled. 

“We’re here to stop some guy from hoarding hand sanitizer. What are you guys doing here?” 

Captain America stood, earning a disappointed whine from Deadpool. “Same. Can’t stand those assholes.”

“Speaking of which,” Deadpool chimed in from the ground. “Anyone have eyes on the butt nugget?” 

From the garage came the sound of a hundred boxes tumbling to the ground. 

They ran. 

Tiny plastic bottles of 60% alcohol hand gel were strewn all over the driveway, glistening in the moonlight. And a very big, very green, very angry Hulk was holding a skinny, acne-speckled, patchily-bearded, extremely frightened hoarder eight feet above the ground. There was a dark stain on the man’s pant leg and a trail of urine was drip, dripping to the ground. 

“Hey there now, big guy, why don’t you put the dickhead down.” 

Peter whipped around. Standing amidst a pile of battered boxes and a turned over chair, his hands raised in a placating manner, repulsors glowing, was Tony.

“You’re not supposed to be out! You’re immunocompromised!” Peter blurted.

“I’m in the suit. I’m fine. And I wasn’t going to let this jerkwad get away with this.” 

“But—” 

“Big Green Guy going squeezy, squeezy is more of the issue right now, don’t you think?” 

Peter gave a tight nod and spread out in a semi circle around the Hulk with Cap and Bucky. Deadpool however took a different approach. 

“Pop his head off!” 

Peter groaned. “Deadpool!” 

Tony noticed Deadpool for the first time. “Are you the buyer? I should have kno—” He took a step towards the mercenary, repulsors whirring dangerously. 

“He’s with me,” Peter interrupted with a sigh.

“You?” Tony turned. “Kid, do I need to tell you not to hang around with mercenaries? I thought that was pretty clear.” 

“He gave me tacos,” Peter mumbled. 

“Tac— You know what? Never mind. Not the focus here.” Tony turned back to the Hulk. “Okay, Big Guy, it’d be super great if you could just put the tiny human down.”

“NO. HE ASSHOLE.”

“I know.” 

“HOARDER.” 

“I know.” 

“PEOPLE SICK!”

“I know!” Tony sighed. “You’re right. Do what you want. I don’t care.” 

“Pop him!” Deadpool yelled. 

“DEADPOOL!” everyone shouted. 

Hulk’s massive fingers tightened around the guy’s neck. His face turned from red to purple. 

There was a rumble as an engine approached on the otherwise silent street. Everyone, including Hulk, turned to look. A long black limousine rolled to a stop, the back door swung open, and the massive figure of Kingpin emerged. 

Everyone in the driveway immediately tensed. Hulk tossed the horder on to the roof without so much as a glance. Cap, Bucky, and Peter dropped into defensive crouches. Deadpool unsheathed his katanas with a nearly silent swish. And Tony fired up his repulsors until he hung a few feet in the air. 

“Well, I think we know what you’re doing here at least,” Tony quipped, deceptively friendly. 

“Thought you’d get yourself some hand sanitizer and mark it up. Make some money.,” Bucky growled with zero attempt at hiding the threat in his voice. 

“Sorry, but we can’t let you do that,” Peter added. 

“And no excuses. You can’t just wash your hands of this,” Deadpool finished. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “You didn’t just say that,” he muttered. 

Deadpool twirled his katanas. “Come on, you can’t start a battle without at least one half-assed pun.” He looked to the others. “So, is this a one of us at a time thing, or an all at once-type free-for-all.” 

“ALL AT ONCE.” Hulk roared

“I knew I liked you.” 

Kingpin threw up his hands. “Wait.” 

Deadpool’s shoulders slumped. “Aw man. It’s no fun when you give up right away!” 

“I’m not here for sanitizer,” Kingpin continued and pointed up, “I’m here for the dickhole on the roof.” 

Tony’s repulsors cut out and he landed with a thump. “Seriously?” 

Kingpin nodded. “His associate tried to make a deal with me. When people are dying! What sort of monster do they think I am? So I pulled out all his fingernails and then I killed him.” 

From the roof, the patchy neck beard guy gave a whimper.

Kingpin chuckled. “But it looks like you people have it under control. I’ll leave you to it.” He gave an airy wave of his hand and lumbered back towards his limousine. “Stay safe.” 

As the rumble of the engine faded from the street, Peter, Deadpool, Tony, Cap, Bucky, and the Hulk all stared at each other. 

“Well that was unexpe—” Peter started.

A burst of rainbow light slammed into the center of the driveway. A moment later, Thor stood in full armor, mjolnir in hand. “I hear there is a creatin of low morals hoarding hand sanitizer! He shall feel the might of—” 

“We got it!” they all yelled at once. 

Thor nodded. “Cool,” and disappeared.

Tony shook his head. “Is that everyone? Star Lord? Captain Marvel? Squirrel Girl wanna make an appearance?” The street, finally, was silent. He nodded. “Good. Now let’s take this guy in.” 

There was a clatter from the roof. The hoarder had taken that moment to try to flee. But his foot had slipped and caught on the gutter, and now he was dangling twelve feet above the ground, his feet kicking uselessly. The gutter he was clutching gave a groan and tore further from the roofline. 

Peter dove forward just in time to catch the man as he fell. They tumbled into the few remaining stacked boxes, landing hard. Peter had the wind knocked out of him and the man took that moment to kick his way free, stepping on Peter’s face as he did so. 

“Hey! That’s not nice! I just saved you!” 

Peter rolled on to his stomach and grabbed the man by the ankle, sending him sprawling to the ground. 

“Ha!” Peter scrambled to a crouch and quickly webbed the man’s hands behind his back. He turned him over. The man coughed. Peter jerked back. “Well, I guess I can’t chastise you for not using your elbow because, you know, webbed. But still, gross.” 

He stood the rest of the way up and turned to his companions. “So, where’s this guy going? SHIELD? The Raft? I heard T’Challa has a special place for guys like him.” 

But no one responded. They were all just staring. 

“What?” 

Deadpool raised a hand and gestured toward Peter’s face. “Spidey. Your mask.” 

Peter touched his cheek and felt skin. The bottom half of his mask was torn from cheek to nose. The nanotech was already knitting back together but the damage was done. 

From the floor of the garage the hoarder continued to cough. A dry, hacking, cough. 

  
  



	2. Feeeeelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's got a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who left comments and kudos! Seriously made my day. Now...let's earn that M rating, shall we?

“I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s okay. Healing factor, right? I’ll be fine. I just gotta get home...isolate for fourteen days, in case.” Peter was rambling and he knew it. “Just gotta get home… I’ll swing back to my apartment. That should be safe. I won’t be close to anyone. I’ll be fine…” 

The others were silent, hanging back as if afraid to approach. 

“Sure, kid. You’ll be fine,” Tony said. 

Peter nodded. “Okay, um, you guys can get this guy to a hospital right? And um, figure out what to do with all the sanitizer? Maybe a shelter, or a nursing home…” 

“We got it.” Cap said, still hanging back. 

“Great. Great.” Peter swallowed. Was his throat scratchy? Why was it so tight? “Okay, I’ll just go then…” He walked toward the street, looking for a decent building or streetlight to web. 

“You’re seriously just going to let him go? What is wrong with you people? I thought you were the good guys!” Deadpool waved his arms at the heroes and stomped off after Peter. “Spidey! Wait!” 

Peter turned. “Sorry, Deadpool. I can’t carry you back I…” He shook his head to clear it. The truth was he wasn’t sure he’d be able to swing himself home. “I just gotta…” He didn’t bother to finish and instead raised his wrist, aiming.

Deadpool grabbed his arm, jerking it down. “Stop.” He looked down and fiddled with his belt. “I’ll get you back. You’re in no shape to be swinging. You’ll end up a squished little spider. And I can’t have that. I need you to make it through this so you can go back to flipping through the air, with your perky ass all—” He stopped, noticing the ring of super heroes glaring at him. Hulk cracked his knuckles. “Sorry. Um...not the time. ” He jiggled his belt and the flicked it. “There we go. All right, hold tight. One endless second of stomach churning nausea and then we’ll have you snuggled up under some blankies.” Deadpool offered his arm. 

Peter narrowed his eyes. “I thought you said your teleporter was broken.” 

“Um...I lied?” 

“Lied.” 

“I just really wanted a piggy back ride, okay?”

“You ass—”

Peter tried to pull away but Deadpool jerked him to his side, hit his belt and Peter was treated to the most unpleasant second of his life.

0I0

Peter blinked, looking around the room. “Um...this isn’t my apartment.” It really wasn’t. The windows didn’t look out on brick walls. The kitchen had a full sized refrigerator. And in the living room there was a huge L-shaped couch instead of a stained, lumpy futon.

“Course not, baby boy! This is one of mine.”

“ _One_ of yours?” 

“Well, I like to have a few places. In my line of work you can’t just—”

“Hold on. Do you think I’m quarantining with you?” Peter screeched.

Deadpool scratched the back of his neck. "Well...I don’t exactly know where you live. Secret identity, remember? Which I totally respect, BT-dubs.” He brightened. “Anyway, think of how fun it will be! We can watch movies! And tell secrets! And braid each other’s hair! Well, your hair. If you have hair. Not sure what you’re working with under there.”

“This isn’t a slumber party, Deadpool!” 

But Deadpool just clapped his hands together, not listening in the slightest. “And we can make pancakes. And, ooh! One bed! Trope alert!” 

“Stop! I can’t stay here!” Peter started to walk to the door, then froze. There could be someone in the hall. He stomped to the window and yanked it open. 

Deadpool hurried after him. “Do you have food at your place?” Peter paused. “Fever reducers? Fluids?” Peter’s hands fell away from the window sill. Deadpool continued in a low, slightly frantic voice, “I’ve seen you swinging around the last couple weeks, delivering food and supplies to all those old people, and I know they don’t have that stuff in stores right now. You used your own supply.” 

Peter thought about his nearly bare cupboards. The lone box of mac and cheese. The handful of dusty canned vegetables. Not nearly enough food for two weeks. 

“Do you have anyone to check on you, Spidey?” Deadpool asked gently.

Peter stepped back from the window. Aunt May was over sixty. He couldn’t risk her stopping by. MJ was in California and Ned was in DC. He shook his head, unable to speak. He was really, really glad he had his mask on and Deadpool couldn’t see the tears that had sprung to his eyes. 

Deadpool took a half step closer, his hands out, placating. “Listen, I was just teasing about the sleepover. You can stay here alone. That’s why I brought you to this place. It’s just one of my safe houses, not the official Casa de Deadpool.” 

“You sure?” 

“Course I’m sure. And I’ll check on you, okay? Just to make sure you’re all right.” 

Peter nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 

“Is there anything you need?” 

“No. I’m good.” There was something he needed, but he couldn’t ask Deadpool for it. 

“‘Kay. Cool. Plenty of food in the cabinets. Wifi password on the fridge. Vintage Penthouses under the bed. January ‘84 is a favorite… “ Deadpool trailed off, suddenly hesitant. “So...I’ll just see you later then.” He reached out for a fist bump then dropped his hand, remembering, and shuffled toward the door. 

At the sight, Peter felt a flare of panic. In a moment he’d be alone. He really didn’t want to be alone with nothing but his mental checklist of early symptoms and pandemic statistics running through his head. But he couldn’t ask Deadpool to stay. That was insane. However nice and thoughtful he seemed to be, he was a mercenary. He worked for the highest bidder. He killed people. Peter was crazy to think he didn’t have another motive for doing this. And if he asked Deadpool to stay, if they hung out on the couch and watched movies. If they made pancakes, he was in serious danger of forgetting that. 

The door shut with a click. 

“Thank you,” Peter said to the empty room. Then he took out his phone and texted Tony. 

0I0

A delivery box full of Stark tech arrived at the apartment door a few hours later. He’d told Tony he was staying at a friend’s place, neglecting to mention that “friend” was actually code for "unstable and notorious killer." Peter was sure Tony would have happily put him up in one of his places, he knew Peter’s real identity and had for years, but Peter hated being more indebted to him than he already was. Plus, he still wasn’t quite over the fact that back in Jersey with four superheroes standing around him, Deadpool was the only one who offered Peter help. He understood, of course. Everyone was afraid. No one really knew what to do. The whole world was in uncharted territory. Still, he hadn’t realized how alone he was feeling until Deadpool stepped in and offered his arm. 

Peter unpacked the box as he shoveled a bowl of pasta into his mouth, flipping open his new laptop. What he hadn’t mentioned to Deadpool was that Peter had a day job. Actually two. He was moonlighting at Stark Labs while working as an adjunct professor in biochemistry at Empire State. Of course, it was all remote now. He met with his team at the lab on a video call a couple times a week and taught an intro course for the university over Zoom Mondays and Wednesdays. It was the college class that was the problem. It was the reason he’d so desperately wanted to get back to his apartment. The reason the thought of quarantining with Deadpool had nearly given him a panic attack. 

Because, Deadpool was one of his students. 

Well, not Deadpool, exactly—Wade Winston Wilson (which was how he’d introduced himself the first day), Deadpool’s not-so-secret civilian identity. Peter had almost choked when he’d seen him slouched in the back of the class, hoodie pulled up to obscure his scars. Wade had seen his reaction and they’d immediately gotten off on the wrong foot—Wade assuming Peter was put off by his appearance, Peter fumbling through the class expecting any second for Deadpool to leap out of his seat, announce to the students that their professor was Spider-Man, and then pull out katanas hidden somewhere on his body and try to skewer him. Because that was the only explanation for his presence, right? 

Except, Wade hadn’t done anything but take notes. 

Peter hadn’t known what to make of it. And a few nights later when Deadpool interrupted Peter’s patrol with his usual offer of tacos, there was no hint that earlier that afternoon, Deadpool had questioned Peter about nonenzymatic glycosylation. Still, Peter couldn’t relax. There was no way Deadpool taking a college biochem class was a mere coincidence. As far as Peter could tell, besides tacos, the mercenary’s main loves were video games and collecting deadly weapons. 

Peter could draw one conclusion: someone had hired Deadpool to discover Spider-Man’s identity. Peter couldn’t think of whom. Most of his enemies were locked up at the moment, or lying low. But it explained why Deadpool had randomly started popping up on patrol. It explained why Wade was in Peter’s class. Someone wanted to know who he was. 

Peter’s suspicions were confirmed a week later when Wade approached Peter after class and faux-casually asked Peter if he could recommend any photography courses. When Peter didn’t immediately answer, Wade continued, saying, “Because you're Peter Parker, right? The guy who used to take pictures of Spider-Man?” 

For about the millionth time, Peter cursed his younger self. Taking selfies for the Daily Bugle may have paid the bills, but it permanently linked Peter Parker to Spider-Man. And while he’d taken care to cover his tracks as much as possible, he wasn’t certain it could stand up to the scrutiny of someone like Deadpool. 

Deadpool had waited patiently for Peter to respond, his face carefully neutral. Finally Peter managed to stutter out an answer, admitting he gave up photography and then adding that he hadn’t seen Spider-Man in years. At his response, Deadpool said “Thanks anyway,” flashed a quick, false smile, and sauntered from the classroom, whistling The Golden Girls theme song. Peter had waited for the door to swing shut before sinking against his desk. 

Back in his apartment, Peter groaned, remembering. Because that was the moment Peter had discovered something about Deadpool, something he wished he’d never learned: Wade Winston Wilson had a fantastic smile. 

The next afternoon, day one of his quarantine, Peter had set up his laptop ready to remotely answer any questions his students had on their latest assignment. He’d carefully chosen a blank white wall as a background that basically matched the setup he’d had in his own apartment and hoped no one would notice. One by one, his students popped on in their little squares; everyone taking the first few moments of the session to chat and catch up. And Peter...well, Peter indulged himself in something he knew he really shouldn’t be doing, for his own sanity. He watched Wade. He watched as he smiled and joked with his classmates—quick easy grins, full head back laughs, lightly flirtatious smirks—none of which were ever directed at Peter. 

Peter had tried, he really had. He’d reminded himself every class that Deadpool was only there because he was trying to discover his identity. But it was really hard to remember because it turned out, Wade was an amazing student. Not that his grades were the best in the class; he was somewhere in the middle. But he listened to his fellow students, helped them, and when someone corrected him when he was wrong, he took it with an easy grace. Wade was funny, not in Deadpool’s usually crude manner, he kept the jokes appropriate for a classroom, but he managed to make everyone laugh, even when they’d all just bombed a test. And he asked thoughtful questions, following along on even Peter’s most boring lectures, even if it seemed like half the time he was just scribbling cartoons in a notebook. 

Realizing he should have started five minutes ago, Peter forced his attention back to his class, answered a couple of questions, began the lecture, and sternly reminded himself that he shouldn’t feel sad Wade never smiled at him because a) he was his student and b) he was probably trying to kill him. 

And it almost worked. Peter pushed down any feelings he had about Wade. He got through the whole lecture. He led a fairly productive discussion. But just before they were all about to sign off, one of his students, Mia Kim (top of the class and she knew it) asked Wade in a sweetly false voice, “if he, like, ever thought of getting his skin fixed. Because, like, her dad is an amazing plastic surgeon.” Peter watched on his screen as everyone froze in their individual boxes, including Wade. Unlike Wade, Mia didn’t handle being wrong well, and in their earlier discussion Wade had gently corrected her. 

Peter could see Wade gearing up for one of his self-deprecating rants. He’d heard them from Deadpool often enough. 

“Mia!” Peter snapped, “Let’s not pretend you’re trying to be helpful. We all know you’re just embarrassed you completely failed to grasp that allosteric enzymes change their configurations when they bind with cofactors. Try reading the materials next time, so you don’t have to stoop to being a bargain basement Regina George. Class is over.” The entire class goggled at Peter, totally silent. He took a breath, calming himself. “Wade? Can you stay on for a second?” 

Wade just nodded, clearly as stunned as everyone else. 

One by one the little squares winked off until it was just Peter and Wade. Suddenly, Peter realized he had no idea what he was going to say. 

“Er…” _Good job_ , Peter thought. _Strong start_. “Are you...okay?”

Wade snorted. “Aw, don’t worry about little ol’ me, professor. You don’t have a mug like this without hearing you look like a rancid avocado at least once a day—and that’s because that’s what I tell myself when I look in the mirror in the morning!” 

“Don’t, um, say that about yourself, okay? It’s not...good.” Jesus, Peter thought, it’s clear he hadn’t missed his calling as a therapist. 

Wade cocked his head. “Thanks for sticking up for me during class, but seriously. It’s all bueno. I know what I look like. Not exactly Ryan Reynolds over here.” 

“Who?”

“I’m just saying I don’t have any winning features.” 

—Don’t say anything about his smile. Don’t say anything about his smile. Don’t say—

“Your sm—” DON’T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT HIS SMILE! “Er, yeah.” Peter’s eyes widened. “I mean, not yeah. Not you don’t have any winning features. I mean…that you...um... How did it happen?” Peter wished he had a desk so he could slam his head on it. 

Wade’s expression shuttered. “Not something I usually talk about with my professors, believe it or not. But since you ask, I’m ex-military. Do you mind if I sign off now?” 

“no,” Peter meeped. 

Wade’s window blinked out. 

Peter picked up a couch cushion, shoved his face in it, and screamed. 

That night, Peter paced nervously across his living room, knowing at any moment he’d have to face Deadpool and pretend he hadn’t humiliated himself over Zoom that afternoon. 

Peter’s phone buzzed. 

**Sorry, bb boy. Can’t make it. U ok?**

Instead of feeling relieved, Peter felt worse. What if he’d sent Deadpool into some sort of tailspin? What if he was sitting alone in a dark room somewhere, too depressed to move? Or worse, roaming the city, katanas gleaming in the streetlight, looking for trouble? 

Peter’s phone buzzed again. 

**Spidey? U ok?**

Not wanting to make the situation any worse, Peter thumbed an answer. 

**Fine. Miss you.**

Wait what? Why had he typed that? What the hell was the matter with his traitorous fingers? Just because he was thinking it didn’t mean he had to text it. Was total lack of filter an early symptom of infection? Because if so Peter was in big trouble. 

Peter watched in horror as three dots appeared at the bottom of his screen, disappeared and appeared again. Finally...

**Wow. Isolation must really be getting to u.**

**Ha ha. Yeah. Sorry.**

**Don’t b.**

Peter stared. What...did...that...mean? Was Deadpool flirting? Not like his usual composing limericks about Peter’s booty sort of flirting, but, like...flirting, flirting? 

Peter responded the only responsible and reasonable way to Deadpool’s maybe-flirt. He left his phone in the living room and went to bed. 

0I0

  
  


Peter ticked off another day on the take-out menu he was using for a quarantine countdown. Deadpool still hadn’t shown up. He’d checked in via text the last few nights and Peter had managed to respond like a normal human being. He was pretty sure he’d be able to face him next time they had class. There’d been no repeat of the maybe-flirting. 

Peter’s next class ran smoothly, but Wade was noticeably quiet. He stopped participating in the discussions and when Peter asked a direction question, his answers were short and to the point. Wade was the first to sign off at the end of class.

Luckily Peter’s other job kept him busy. They were swamped, compiling and parsing massive amounts of data. He was just getting into some really interesting stuff when Tony popped on his screen. 

“You there, kid?” 

“Where else would I be?” Peter sighed. 

“Fair enough. Good work here. Love what you’re sending in.” 

“Thanks.”

“Hey, notice anything out of the ordinary recently? Anything unusual? Odd?”

“I found a can of cream of chicken soup from 2009. And I ate it.”

“We’ve all been there. But no, not what I meant. It’s just…” Tony sighed. “FRIDAY noticed some unusual activity on the servers. Centered around...you. Personal data. FRIDAY booted whoever it was, of course, but still. Just wanted to touch base.” 

Peter was careful to not let anything show on his face. “No...I can’t think of anything. I mean, I’ve been in this apartment. Unless it was that guy who coughed on me…” 

“No, he’s accounted for. In the hospital with a SHIELD agent watching over him.” 

“Yeah. I can’t think of anyone.” 

Peter could definitely think of someone. 

“Well, keep an eye out. Anyway, you feeling okay?” 

Peter mumbled through an answer, not mentioning the semi-panic attacks he got every time his throat itched or he felt the slightest bit warm. He didn’t want to seem like a complete basketcase in front of Tony. The guy had more important things to worry about. And a moment later Peter was proven right; Tony signed off, pulled into another meeting. 

Peter sighed, then jumped when there was a knock on the door. He slammed his laptop closed, grabbed his mask off the coffee table. Sweats, a ratty tee-shirt and a Spider-Man mask weren’t a great look, but it would protect anyone outside from being exposed to him. He’d dug around in the dresser in the bedroom earlier in the week and found a decent supply of comfy clothes. They were all too big, but it’s not like there was anyone to see him. And his suit wasn’t exactly practical to wear 24/7. Peter walked to the door, peering through the peephole. His stomach did a weird flip flop. Outside, Deadpool rocked back and forth on his heels, whistling. 

Peter opened the door. “Hey. You’re here.” Peter didn’t know what else to say. The information Tony had just given him, Peter’s memories of his disastrous classes with Wade, and the sheer excitement of seeing another human had pretty much shorted out his brain. 

“Yep!” Deadpool stepped inside, arms full of grocery bags. “Just wanted to resupply you.” Peter watched as Deadpool, shucked his weapons, tossing them on the kitchen table, then unloaded the groceries with a frightening efficiency, cupboards opening and closing almost faster than he could see. “How you feeling? Any symptoms?” 

“No.” Peter needed to make a plan. A clever one that would suss out Deadpool’s true intentions. He would have to be subtle. Methodical. Maybe he could ask Black Widow for tips.

“That’s great!” Deadpool said brightly. “It takes five days on average for symptoms to appear. You’re past that now.”

“Oh. That’s good to know. Hey, are you trying to kill me?” 

Or Peter could just ask. Like a dumbass. 

Deadpool froze, a jar of spaghetti sauce halfway to a shelf. Peter continued, “Or, um, are you trying to find out my identity? Has someone paid you? Because...because...Tony warned me that someone was trying to get at my civilian identity and you… well, you’ve been hanging around a lot. Or you were. I actually thought you were going to stop by more. Because you said you would but now it’s been days. It’s totally fine that you haven’t. No big deal. Thanks for the texts. But I mean, like before I got exposed. On patrol and stuff.” 

This could not have been going worse. Deadpool hadn’t moved, though the spaghetti jar in his hand was shaking slightly.

Peter kept going, sure that humiliation was going to kill him before any virus could. “And I was just wondering if that was because you were trying to figure out who I was, because I can’t really think of another reason why you would want to hang around me.” 

There was a long silence.

“Seriously? You can’t think of a reason?” Deadpool finally asked, his voice empty of its usual humor.

“Er. No?”

Deadpool put the spaghetti jar down and stalked toward Peter. “Because, I thought I’ve been pretty obvious.” 

Deadpool was huge. Deadpool killed things for a living. And yet as he moved across the room, Peter’s spidey-sense remained quiet. And that’s when Peter realized, he’d never felt it go off around Deadpool. Not once. Which meant, Deadpool wasn’t trying to harm him. Which meant there was only one other reason...

“I’ve composed poems to your ass, baby boy.” Peter could feel the intensity of Deadpool’s gaze despite his mask.

“Limericks,” Peter squeaked. 

“Well, we can’t all be Shakespeare.” Deadpool stopped a few feet away, his posture suddenly uncertain. “Look, I get that you probably have a lot better options than me. But, just so we are crystal clear, I’m hanging around you because I wanna tap that. Not because someone’s paying me to.”

“Er…” Peter struggled to find words that said I wanna tap that too but things are a bit more complicated than you know because you’re my student and also I don’t think you like the real me very much. But Deadpool obviously took his silence for something else, because he rushed to fill the gap. 

“And I’m sorry I haven’t been by as much as I said I would. I’ve been adding all those old biddies you’ve been delivering groceries to on my usual rounds. You were covering a lot of territory. Mr. Nimble says hi, by the way.” 

“You’ve been doing my rounds?” 

“Of course!”

Of course he had, because Deadpool was just as kind and surprisingly thoughtful as Wade. Peter needed to sit. He stumbled toward the couch and plopped down. “Wait, your usual rounds?” he asked, trying to clear his head. “I never saw you delivering groceries.” 

Deadpool followed him to the living room. “That’s because I was focusing on taco stands! And Chinese restaurants! And basically anywhere else I liked eating. I couldn’t let my favorite places go out of business, so I was buying tons of takeout and giving it away. But then, once I added your rounds to mine, it was all getting to be a bit much, until I realized I could just pay the rent on my favorite restaurants and set up regular deliveries to the ERs. Boom. Problem solved. Now I have time to visit you!” 

“You paid their rent? And bought food for the hospitals?”

“Yeah. I’m super rich and my main expense is chimichangas and ammunition. We all gotta do our part.” Peter felt dizzy. He put his head in his hands. Deadpool leapt forward. “Whoa there! You okay, Spidey?” 

Peter felt Deadpool grasp his shoulders, steadying him. They were so close; Peter sitting on the couch, Deadpool kneeling in front of him. If Peter just shifted the slightest bit forward, he would be in his arms. 

He really wanted to shift forward. 

And Peter guessed Deadpool wanted him to as well, going by the slight tensing of his muscles under Peter’s hands, the sudden hitch in his breath. 

“Spidey…” 

Peter leaned forward. 

And Deadpool pulled back. 

“What? Um…” Peter fumbled, his face flaming beneath his mask. “Sorry, I uh...I thought…” He leapt up from the couch and backed away.

Deadpool hurriedly stood. “Oh, for sure you thought right, but you’ve been alone in a room for days, baby boy. A moldy bath mat probably would seem sexy to you right now. Which is basically what I look like without my mask. I can’t take advantage of that.”

Peter supposed he should be grateful. It was definitely a bad idea to kiss Deadpool. Even if he wasn’t trying to harm Peter, Deadpool clearly wasn’t impressed by Peter’s real identity. In which case, where could this go? He couldn’t keep his mask on all the time. Not that Peter hadn’t had fantasies about coming in from a patrol and webbing Deadpool to his bedposts and… Nope. He had to stop. 

“What if I said I’ve kinda...had a crush on you for months?” 

That was definitely not stopping. 

Deadpool roughly knocked the side of his head. “Sorry, Spidey. I hear things sometimes. Anyway, is there anything you need? Besides toilet paper. Even SHIELD can’t get that.” 

Peter had been exposed to a virus. He could get sick. Very sick. And in front of him was someone who made him laugh, who was a stupidly good person, and who he was probably already a little bit in love with. Surely he was allowed this. He could figure out the details later. 

“You weren’t hearing things.”

Deadpool goggled at him. “I…” he trailed off, then shook his head to clear it. “Sorry, just trying to wrap my head around that. So your text...where you left me hanging after I said ‘don’t be...’” 

“I ran away from my phone and hid in the bedroom. I’m not proud.” 

“And just to be super clear, the ‘miss you’ was more than just like, I miss you bringing me tacos.” 

“A lot more.” 

Deadpool muttered something under his breath Peter couldn’t quite catch. “You have no idea how long I analyzed that text. Weasel tried to kill me twice.” Then Deadpool straightened, his whole attitude suddenly shifting. “Baby boy, I have never been so grateful it’s impossible for me to get sick.” Under his mask his grin was lecherous. 

Peter’s stomach swooped. 

Deadpool stepped forward, closing the difference between them. He reached up towards Peter’s face then hesitated. “I’m not gonna lie, I imagined this moment a lot. But, um, now that it’s actually happening… I...” His hand dropped away. 

Peter moved closer until they were nearly pressed against each other. “Me too.” 

“Did your fantasies involve you calling me a bad boy then webbing me to a bed?” Deadpool joked, trying to ease the tension. 

“Actually yes.” 

Deadpool squeaked. “Oh god.” 

Peter lifted his hand to Deadpool’s mask. “This okay?” Deadpool nodded. Peter found the seam and slid his fingers under it. Gently, he peeled it up until he could see Wade’s face. His eyes were screwed shut. 

“It’s fine if you need to run to the bathroom to go barf or whatever. Just brush your tee—” 

“Shut up. It’s not like I haven’t seen you before.” Wade’s eyes opened in surprise. Peter shrugged. “Dude, you’re on TikTok, like, all the time without your mask. You went viral on Halloween for your Ruth Bader costume. Honestly, I was always a little confused why you bothered to hide so much when you were around me. Did you think I would mind?”

Wade shrugged and mumbled something that sounded like, “I get self conscious around people I care about.” 

“Oh. Um…” Peter realized that probably shouldn’t give him the warm fuzzies, but it totally did. He wanted to kiss Wade. Like now. “Anyway I...” Peter lifted his mask over his chin. When he reached his nose, Wade’s hand darted out and stopped him. 

“Don’t.” 

“Uh...you showed me yours.” 

“But, like you said, my identity isn’t a secret. Yours is.” 

Peter felt a knot of tension unspool in his stomach. Deadpool was giving him an out and he didn’t even know it. They didn’t have to ruin the moment. And Peter could explain tomorrow. Surely Wade wouldn’t be too mad. Peter had been awkward but he hadn’t done anything really wrong. And what if Wade wasn’t attracted to him without his mask? He’d literally just said he only got self conscious around people he cared about, which going by how he behaved in class, was obviously not Peter Parker. Not to mention, there was the whole teacher / student thing. But if he kept the mask on, tonight he could just be Spider-Man, not Peter. That’s who Deadpool wanted anyway. 

Maybe he should stop.

Deadpool hummed a bit and caressed his cheek with this thumb. 

No fucking way was he stopping. 

Peter leaned forward and brushed his lips against Wade’s, sighing as he felt them part. 

He could get sick at any moment. The world was a disaster. And tonight...tonight he was just Spider-Man. 

Deadpool moaned as Peter slid his tongue into his mouth. Peter sank into the kiss, allowing everything to fall away except the feel of Wade's mouth against his. When they broke apart, Peter was breathless and Deadpool's eyes were glazed.

"Holy crap. I just kissed Spidey."

"Oh, we're going to do a lot more than kiss." Peter said and watched Wade's eyes light up. Peter pressed his hands against Deadpool’s shoulders and walked him backward toward the bedroom. Wade made a huff of surprise as Peter shoved him to the bed with just the slightest hint of his super strength and climbed astride him. 

“Super strength fantasy, check.” Deadpool breathed, his normal humor tempered by desire. 

“Shhh,” Peter said and ground down with his hips. Deadpool made an incoherent noise which Peter cut short by kissing him. 

Soon tongues and hands were tangled, Peter nipping and sucking on Wade’s scarred lips while Wade’s hand roamed beneath Peter’s oversized t-shirt and up his ribs. Peter gasped as one of Wade’s hands brushed against his nipple. 

“I didn’t think to dress you in my clothes, though, Wade mumbled against Peter’s neck. “My mistake, it’s super hot.” Peter shivered, then got his revenge by finding a spot below Wade’s ear and swirling his tongue against it. Wade whimpered helplessly. 

“Clothes are overrated.” Peter sat back and pulled the shirt off, tossing it aside. 

“Oh.” The word was more of a sigh as Wade took in the sight of a shirtless Peter, moonlight spilling across his shoulders. Peter bit his lip, smiling, a little embarrassed. But Wade hauled him close and soon Peter's entire world narrowed to whatever magic Wade was doing with his teeth and tongue. 

“This isn’t fair,” Peter said after a moment and started to tug at Wade’s uniform. “Your turn now.” He frowned. Gave another tug. “Hold on. How does this come off?” 

Wade laughed and sat up, “Patience, baby boy. Daddy Deadpool can get you what you want.”

“Don’t ever say that again.” 

“Noted.” 

Wade pulled at a seam at his neck. Frowned. Pulled again. “Actually I think I might need some help here.” 

Soon they were both laughing and tugging at Wade’s stupidly skin tight costume. 

“Hold on—” 

“Wait. It’s stuck on your arm—” 

“Just let me twist a little—” 

“I think I got it—”

With a final yank, Peter tumbled backwards holding an armful of red leather and Kevlar. When he sat back up, he blinked. Swallowed. “Uh...comando, huh?” 

Deadpool cocked an eyebrow at Peter, smile smug. “Can’t let panty lines ruin the look.” He reached up to cross his arms behind his head.

Peter grinned, then in a flash, reached below the bed and grabbed the webshooters he kept stored under there, and sprang back up. 

Thwip. Thiwp. Deadpool’s wrists were webbed to the headboard. Wade groaned. 

“You okay?” Peter asked, his breath coming shallow at the sigh of Deadpool displayed naked on his bed. 

“You have no idea. I’m on green, baby. Safeword is ‘adamantium.’” 

Peter crawled up the mattress. “Let me know if there’s anything you don’t like.” Deadpool hissed his assent as Peter worked his way down Wade’s neck, across his chest, then lower, and lower. 

When he finally took Wade in his mouth, Deadpool let out a string of curse words in several languages, including, Pater was pretty sure, Asgardian. Peter worked him, slowly at first, then faster, using his heightened senses to track every stutter of Wade’s heartbeat, until he was moaning and pleading for Peter to stop. And then not stop. Until finally he was just saying Peter’s name over and over. Well, not actually Peter’s, Spider-Man’s. But Peter pushed that thought away. 

When he came, Peter swallowed, then looked up to find Wade staring, pupils blown wide, with a look on his face that Peter was probably going to remember for the rest of his life . 

“Come here,” Wade whispered. 

Peter did. They kissed, long and slowly. Peter reached up to tug Wade’s hands from the webbing, then moaned as Wade used his newfound freedom to slide them beneath the waistband of Peter’s sweats and take him in his hand. 

Wade chuckled, and the sound was full of filthy promises. 

“My turn,” he growled. 

0I0

Peter couldn’t move. He lay sprawled on the bed, naked except for his mask, covers thrown to the floor. Next to him, Wade had his face planted in a pillow and was equally imobile. 

“That was…”

“Yeah.” It sounded more like “yeumph” because Wade refused to move his face to answer. 

“I...think I blacked out there at the end.” 

“Oh I definitely did. Twice.” Deadpool lifted a lazy hand and trailed it up and down Peter’s stomach. Peter shivered and his body briefly considered round three. 

“Um…” Peter realized they should talk. Sexy times required communication under normal circumstances that didn’t involve various secret identities. This was definitely a “we should talk situation” times a million. 

“Shhh. We’ll talk in the morning,” Deadpool mumbled. “I’ll make pancakes.”

Pancakes sounded amazing. Deadpool was right. This could wait for the morning. Peter melted into a puddle of contentment as Wade reached over and pulled him closer, snuggling him to his side. Everything was going to be all right. 

Peter awoke hours later, the morning sun streaming through the window, a note bedside him on the pillow. 

_Sorry. Business to take care of. Pancakes in the kitchen._ And a little cartoon of a tiny Deadpool hugging a tiny Spider-Man. And then a second one of them fucking. 

But the note wasn’t what had Peter’s heart pounding. Or his body breaking out in a sheen of sweat. Or his limbs shaking. Or his stomach churning. 

Peter was sick. 


	3. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's sick, Deadpool's on to something, and Tony is pissed off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for everyone's comments and kudos! They are making this quarantine bearable. *announcer voice* Now for the thrilling conclusion...

Peter shivered under his blankets. In the kitchen, the pancakes sat untouched. His stomach churned at the thought of food. The only time he’d left his bed was to run to the bathroom. He was miserable. 

His sole accomplishment for the day had been to text Deadpool saying he felt sick then type out an email on his phone, canceling class. He’d briefly considered that Deadpool might get suspicious, but Peter was planning on coming clean the next time they saw each other, so he didn’t spend a lot of time worrying. It was too much effort. 

He drifted in and out of sleep, surprised that nausea was his primary symptom. It was supposed to be rare, but when had Peter ever been lucky? 

He was finally jerked to full awareness by his phone buzzing at his ear. 

**Gonna come home and give you lots of snuggles until u feel better. Poor bae. But can’t quite yet. U said Tincan thought someone was snooping around looking for u. Think I know who. But gotta check on someone frst. Might b in trouble.**

Peter started to text Deadpool back when his phone buzzed again and Tony popped up on screen. 

“Hey, kid.” Tony’s face was bouncing in frame as he jogged. “Glad I caught, ya. How you feeling?”

“Not great, actually.” Peter struggled to sit, but then gave up and dropped back down to his pillow.

Tony did a double-take, truly looking at Peter for the first time. “Wow. Yeah. You look like shit.”

“Don’t come over—”

“I know. I know. I’m staying away. Got something else to do, actually. You got fluids? Medicine? I’m going to send a medi-drone to check on you.” 

“Thanks.” 

“No problem. That’s not why I called though. Someone hacked into the Stark servers again last night. FRIDAY shut them down but...they may have got something.” 

Peter sat bolt upright. “Is Aunt May okay? Did they—”

“She’s fine. She’s fine. Hold on. I’m switching to audio only.” The image of Tony winked off Peter’s screen, but his voice continued. “I was worried they got your home address. Lucky you aren’t there right now. So I kept an eye on it. Nothing but delivery people going in and out...until a few minutes ago.” 

Peter’s stomach twisted and not just from the illness. “Who…”

“I told you to stay away from him, kid. I don’t care how many tacos he brings you.” There was a tinge of sadness in Tony’s voice. 

“Deadpool? No, Tony. You’re wrong. He just texted me. He said he knew who was trying to get to my identity.” 

Tony snorted. “Yeah. Him.” 

“It’s not him. I swear.” 

“Then who is it?” 

“I don’t know, but you gotta believe me. It’s not Deadpool. My senses don’t go off around him.”

“Kid, you can’t trust people based on whether they give you a tingle or not.”

“IT’S NOT A TINGLE! I told you not to— Why do people—?” Peter took a breath. “He’s good. I promise.”

“Look, I know this is disappointing. You like the guy, I get it. But he hacked in at 3:30 am last night. FRIDAY has the proof.”

“That’s impossible. I know what he was doing at 3:30.” 

There was a slight pause. “How do you know?” 

Peter swallowed. Tried to think of another answer. Couldn’t. “Because...he was...with me?”

This time, the pause went on forever. Tony’s voice was tight with tension when he finally spoke. “And what was he doing with you at 3:30 in the morning?” 

“...eating tacos?” Peter’s voice cracked on the word. 

Tony cursed. “Well, I’m definitely going to kill him now.” There was a whir of machinery followed by a blast of propulsion. 

Peter threw the blankets off and stumbled to his feet. “Wait! Are you flying? Are you in the suit?! Mr. Stark!” 

But the phone was dead in his hands. Call ended. 

Peter punched Deadpool’s contact. 

“Hey baby boy, I’m as eager to try phone sex as you are, but you should rest and I’m a little busy at the mo.” 

“Deadpool, you gotta—”

“Hold on.” Peter could sense Deadpool tense, even through the phone. A second later, Deadpool continued in a low voice, “Listen, Spidey, are you and that Peter Parker guy still close? Truth time, please. I’m not trying to pry, but boy called in sick today and now he’s not at his apartment, and well, that person who is after your identity? I think they might have kidnapped the little nerd.” 

“Yes… I…” Peter’s head was swimming. “No one kidnapped him.”

“His place is a wreck. And I know the person after him. They don’t mess around. Real nasty. I’ve been tailing them for days but I lost ‘em and— shit.” 

On the other end of the line there was an explosion. 

“Wade!” 

Another blast. Peter recognized the sound—repulsors.

“Call ya back, Spidey,” Deadpool huffed. There was the sound shifting debris, then… “Hey, Iron Dick!” Deadpool yelled. “What’s got up your—” The call cut off. 

“Shit!” Peter flew to the living room, dragging a blanket behind him. He grabbed the laptop from where he’d shoved it under the couch, flipped it open and started searching local news sites. On his phone he opened Twitter. “Come on…” 

#ironman #deadpool #IronpoolFight

There. Footage of Iron Man and Deadpool. With everyone stuck in their apartments, no one had anything else to do but film the destruction happening outside. 

Peter watched on his various screens as on the roof of Peter’s apartment building, Deadpool rolled to avoid Tony’s repulsor blasts. He was talking a mile a minute but the cell phone footage wasn’t catching the audio. 

Peter called Tony. Voicemail. 

“Dammit, Tony! I told you it wasn’t him! I am so mad at you right now! And I know Deadpool can’t die but I’m going to be super pissed if you hurt him. Also I feel like it’s time maybe you stopped treating me like a kid? Just because you knew me when I was a teenager doesn’t mean I still am. I am a grownup, okay? I do my own taxes. I have a succulent collection. That I keep alive! I am perfectly capable of choosing who I eat tacos with—” 

The voicemail cut off. On screen Deadpool was hanging by one hand off the ledge of the building, his phone in the other. He was...texting?

Peter’s phone buzzed. 

It was a picture of Deadpool’s dick. 

“Oh come on!” Peter started typing. 

**Seriously? Now is not the time!**

**Sorry. Meant to send different pic. HOld on. Watch out for miami**

What? 

But before Peter could text back he watched the phone—and Deadpool—get blasted off the building by Tony. 

Tony pumped a fist...and totally missed the grappling hook that shot out from below, wrapping around his feet, yanking him from the sky. 

Peter smirked as he watched Tony crash through a fire escape and an awning on his way down to the ground. He was going to be sore for a couple of days.

There was a knock on the door. 

Peter sprang to his feet, blinking away the wave of dizziness that followed. He hadn’t ordered anything. Maybe it was the old man with the weird glasses and the mustache who lived down the hall. Peter pulled the blanket more tightly around his shoulders and stumbled to the door. Even walking that far took a lot out of him. Panting a bit, he peered through the peephole.

“Mia?” Peter rasped. What was one of his students doing outside his apartment? At the sound of his voice, Mia smiled and flipped her hair over her shoulders. 

“Professor Parker?” Mia held up a box. “I brought something for you.”

There was something wrong here. Peter knew it. But his head was fuzzy and he needed to sit down. “Mia, I can’t open the door. I’m sick. Just...leave it outside and go.” 

Mia’s smile got wider. “No. I don’t think I will.” And with that she tossed the box aside and aimed a kick at the door. 

WHAM! Peter flew backwards, having time to realize the thing that had been bugging him as he sailed through the air. 

“You shouldn’t know where I’m staying,” he wheezed as he hit the ground with a thud. 

Mia snapped a military grade mask over her face and strode over the ruin of the door. “Finding your actual address, that was challenging. But this place? After that email you sent this morning?” She snapped her fingers. “I could have done that in third grade.” Her voice was muffled by the mask, but her glee was evident. 

Peter rolled over to his hands and knees, trying to stand. But Mia was already there, aiming a solid kick to his stomach. Peter crumpled. 

“Careful,” he choked, “I’ve thrown up, like, four times today. You don’t want to make it five.” He had to get up, but his limbs weren’t listening. Mia bent down and grabbed Peter by the neck, hauling him to his feet. “Hey thanks. I couldn’t seem to do that.”

“Shut up.” Mia growled in frustration. “Tell me who Spider-Man is, and I’ll leave you on the couch with your box of tissues.” 

Peter tried to shake his head, under her vice-like grip. “Nah. Don’t think I will. Also, you’re getting an F for sure.” 

With a cry Mia threw Peter across the room. He crashed into the TV, shattering the screen, and tumbled to the floor. “Oh come on! Now how am I gonna binge Schitt’s Creek?” Peter stumbled to his feet, scanning the room for weapons. It was Deadpool’s apartment. There had to be something. And that last throw had confirmed what Peter had suspected. “Super strength, huh?” Must be nice.” 

“It comes in handy.” 

Mia leaped over the couch. Peter dodged just in time. His spidey-senses were barely functioning. Black spots swam before his eyes. He had to end this fast. He didn’t want to go for his webshooters and give himself away, not when she hadn’t figured out his identity. He grabbed a lamp and threw it. Mia batted it aside. 

Peter scrambled back. There was a window, but Deadpool didn’t have a fire escape. It was a straight drop to the ground. The door was open, or, more accurately, shattered. He could run for the stairwell and hope no one was in it. Mia stalked toward him. Peter reached down and yanked the area rug. Mia fell to the ground and Peter dashed for the door. 

He got five feet before a wave of nausea overtook him and he blacked out. 

He came to as Mia slammed him up against the window. 

“Now tell me who Spider-Man is, or I cure your little flu by throwing you out a window.” 

“It’s not a flu,” Peter wheezed. 

“Wow. I mean, I thought his lectures were boring too, but let’s not kill the guy.” 

Peter looked over Mia’s shoulder to see Deadpool framed in the doorway, katanas whirring as he stepped over the debris. 

“Deadpool,” Mia hissed. 

“Mia-if-that’s-the-name-you’re-going-with. I knew I recognized you from Sister Margaret’s. Nice highlights, BTW. The blonde really gives you that Cali-girl vibe. But I think you should work on the name. Kinda meh.” 

“Miami!” Peter exclaimed, finally realizing Deadpool had been trying to warn him about Mia when he had been texting him from the rooftop. 

Deadpool cocked his head. “Not sure that’s much better, Prof, but I’ll give you an A for effort.”

There was no hint of recognition. With Peter’s body mostly blocked by Mia, Deadpool could only see his face. Peter stared into Deadpool’s eyes willing him to understand.

But Deadpool just continued forward, katanas slicing through the air. “I know this is probably a shock. Two mercenaries in your class. But, I’m basically the good guy here. Though my desire to save your ass is kinda waning. Boring class. Super nerdy. And you give up Spidey’s location in, like, less than an hour? Weak sauce, bro.” 

Mia’s eyes lit up. “So this is where Spider-Man lives. I guess I don’t need you anymore. Unless you want to tell me where your quarantine buddy went?” She pressed Peter closer against the glass of the window, applying pressure to his throat. 

But Peter’s eyes were on Deadpool. “You think my class is boring?” 

Finally, there was a flicker of recognition in Deadpool’s eyes. “Peter?” he said, as if trying out the name. 

Mia rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, the only reason we were in your stupid class was to find out who Spider-Man was.” And with that Mia shoved Peter out the window.

Everything went into slow motion. 

The glass bit into Peter’s skin as it shattered around him. 

Peter heard a strangled “No!” from Deadpool, before it was cut short by Mia’s roundhouse kick to his face. 

As he tumbled backward into the sky, Peter felt fresh air on his skin for the first time in days. 

He didn’t have his webshooters. 

He was going to die.

Peter twisted his body...reached out with his hands and feet...and felt his fingers catch on the side of the building. 

He continued to slide down. He dug in with his feet, felt bits of concrete cumple under his toes, and finally came to a stop. 

Peter panted, his whole body pressed against the side of the building, as he gripped using every ounce of his rapidly waning super strength twenty stories from the ground. 

Peter knew he should be afraid. There was a good chance he was going to fall to his death. But the only thing running through his mind was that Deadpool...Wade...thought the real Peter was boring and nerdy. Peter had wondered what Wade would think of his real identity and now, he knew. He never should have slept with him. Peter pressed his face against the building. The tears that sprang to his eyes weren’t only from the effort of holding on. 

Above him, he could hear the sounds of a fight. A second later, Deadpool’s head popped through the shattered window. He looked down and took in the sight of Peter, dressed in Wade’s sweatpants, stuck to the wall, full Spider-Man powers on display. 

The lenses of Deadpool's mask widened slightly at the confirmation. 

Peter mouthed “Sorry.” But before Wade could respond, Mia’s arms wrapped around his neck and he was pulled back into the building. There was a crash as the fight continued. 

A friendly beep sounded in Peter’s ear. He turned to come face to face with one of Stark’s new medi-drones hovering in mid-air next to him. 

“Oh hey. You don’t happen to have a parachute in there? Or a ladder maybe?”

But the little drone just whirred and beeped, scanning Peter, a little light flashing back and forth over his face. A second later, a small arm extended holding a swab. 

“Ouch!” Peter cried as it was jammed up his nose. “I’m trying to hold on to a building here.” 

But the drone just chirped and flew away. Peter sighed. So much for help. 

Real help came a moment later. 

“Kid, you’re supposed to be resting.” 

“Tony!” Peter cried, twisting his head to see Iron Man hovering in the air next to him. “Get back. I’m contagious. I’m—”

“—hanging on to the side of a building. I think that takes priority.” He grabbed Peter and lifted him away and up. As Peter looked down, he saw black SHIELD vans pulling up around the entrance to the high rise. 

“I got your message,” Tony said after a moment. “I’m very impressed with your ability to keep houseplants alive. So millennial of you.” 

“Tony…” Peter moaned. 

“Look, I was wrong. Which I’m sure you know is one of my least favorite things to say, so don’t make me expound on it further.” He took a breath. “And I know you’re not a kid. And I know I’m not anyone’s idea of a father-figure. But...sometimes I can’t help but worry a little, okay? Which is a really weird experience for yours truly, so you just gotta bear with me while I figure it out.” 

Peter couldn’t breathe and it wasn’t because he was sick. “Yeah. Sure,” he finally managed and felt Tony’s arms squeeze a little tighter around him.

When Tony spoke again his voice was deliberately light, though strained as if he was holding back some big emotion. “So what I’m saying is, go ahead and eat tacos with whomever you want.” 

Peter laughed even as his stomach sank. He wasn’t sure there would be any more tacos with Deadpool now that his identity was out. 

A moment later, they were back at the shattered window, Peter carefully crawling back through. Deadpool was alone, SHIELD obviously come and gone. He sat on the back of the couch, legs kicking as he flipped through his phone. 

At Peter’s entrance he leaped up, his expression unreadable through his mask. “Peter…? He asked. 

“Hey. Uh, so...this is me.” 

“Yeah. I, uh, kinda put that together.” Deadpool looked down, embarrassed. “Feel kinda dumb I didn’t sooner but—” 

“No!” Peter interejected. “I—” 

“Deadpool, sorry about the whole trying to kill you thing,” Tony said, interrupting them as he climbed through the window. “I take it our girl has been picked up? Reports say she was planning on selling Spider-Man's identity to the highest bidder. But she was working alone, so that’s lucky.” 

Peter whirled. “You can’t be here! I’m sick! This whole room is probably covered in virus!” 

Tony cocked his head. “Kid, what exactly are your symptoms?” 

“Uh, nausea. Chills? Feeling like death?”

“Any fever? Cough?”

Peter blinked. “No. Not really.” 

“My medi-drone tested you. You came back negative.” 

“I...did?” 

“What have you eaten in the last twenty-four hours?” 

Peter’s brain whirred, remembering. “Uh…” 

There was a clatter from the kitchen. “Oh dude, gross! You didn’t!” Deadpool was digging through the trash. A moment later, he stood, holding an empty can of cream of chicken soup in the air. 

“I was hungry…” Peter looked back and forth between them. Deadpool’s grin was huge. Tony was shaking from silent laughter. 

“This is from 2009!” Deadpool crowed. 

“Soup sounded good,” Peter mumbled. “Stop laughing. I feel horrible.” 

“You gave yourself food poisoning,” Tony wheezed.

“I hate you both. I can’t believe you’re laughing at me. I’m si…” The room swam around him. The last thing Peter saw was the shocked expressions on Deadpool’s and Tony’s faces, their laughter abruptly cut short. 

0I0

Peter awoke on the sofa, a ridiculously soft blanket snuggled around him. Tony was gone. Deadpool hovered anxiously on the arm of the couch, or more accurately, Wade, since his mask was off and he was in sweats and a t-shirt . At the sight of Peter opening his eyes, Wade sprang forward. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“I’m sorry,” Peter responded, ignoring the question. He struggled to sit up, stifling a moan as his stomach protested. 

“Do you want crackers? Ginger ale?” 

“Wade,” Peter rasped. “I’m sorry. I should have told you who I was right away. I knew…” He sighed. “I knew you didn’t like Peter Parker much and I ignored that because I wanted...well...I wanted you. It wasn’t fair. I used being Spider-Man to take advantage of the situation.” Peter couldn’t look at Wade, didn’t want to see the confirmation of everything he was saying on his face. Instead he focused on the ground; there were a few shining bits of glass that hadn’t been cleaned up. They sparkled a little in the late afternoon light. “I’ll go. I can go back to my own place now. You don’t need to take care of me.”

Peter tried to get to his feet, but Wade blocked him, gently pushing him back down to the sofa.

“Whoa whoa whoa. Hold on there. Um, thanks for the apology. I accept. And honestly, I’m kinda relieved. 

Peter blinked. “You are? Why?”

Wade huffed. “You’re so freakin’ good. All the time. Saving people. Doing what’s right. Unlike me. Not that I'm not trying to be better. It's just that it’s nice to know Spider-Man makes a morally dubious choice now and then. Kinda levels the playing field. And bonus if it comes with a side of mind-blowing orgasms for moi. ”

Peter looked away, not ready for forgiveness. “I feel awful about it.”

“I know you do. You wouldn’t be you otherwise.” Wade’s voice was soft. “But let’s backtrack a bit, what makes you think I don’t like Peter Parker?” 

“Uh...you called me nerdy, my class boring, and every interaction we’ve ever had with my mask off has been excruciatingly awkward?” 

“You are nerdy. I like nerdy.”

Peter buried his head in his hands. “I was a disaster. Pretty much anytime I opened my mouth.” 

He heard Wade sit down on the other side of the couch with a sigh. “Most people are around me. I’m used to it.” 

“I want to be better than most people.” 

Wade snorted. “Trust me, most people don’t leap to my defense with Mean Girls references. I’m not gonna lie, my heart fluttered a bit.” 

“Please.” 

“What? You don’t believe me?” 

“You never smiled at me,” Peter mumbled, realizing how ridiculous that sounded, but needing to say it anyway.

Wade scooted closer. “Well, one, you were my teacher so that would be weird and bad. And two, I kinda had other reasons for being in the class that kept me from focusing on my hot professor.” 

Peter spun to face him. “So you were there to figure out my identity!” 

“No.” Deadpool rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, one night when we were out on patrol you said some sciencey stuff I didn’t understand. And I thought...if I ever was gonna have a chance with you, I should maybe brush up a little. I didn’t want you to think I was just some dumb Canadian with an amazing bod. So I looked for a college class, and then when I saw Peter Parker was teaching, I was like, score! He might drop some good Spidey info.” 

Peter blinked. “Wait. Seriously? You took a college course to try to impress me?”

“You have know idea how amazing your ass is, do you?”

“Shut up.” Peter blushed then looked down as another thought occurred to him. “See. That’s the problem.”

“What is?

“You like Spidey...and Spidey’s ass…” Peter sighed. “And this..” He gestured to himself. “...is me. Most of the time. Just...Peter. And I say stupid stuff. And I’m awkward. And I eat cans of chicken soup that I obviously shouldn’t.” 

Deadpool slid closer, closing the gap between them. “Peter…” he said and Peter shuddered a little, still not used to hearing his name coming from Wade’s mouth. “I know I joke about your ass. But it’s not just your ass. You want to know when I started to like you? I saw you on patrol one night, and these two kids robbed a bodega. And yeah, you webbed them up, and probably scared the shit out of them, but you didn’t leave them for the cops. You talked to them. And then, somehow, you got them to return everything and help clean up the store. I still see those two kids in the neighborhood. One of them works at the bodega now. And...I just couldn’t help falling for a guy who believed in giving people second chances. ‘Cause, I don’t know if you know this about me, but, um...I tend to need second chances.” 

“Wade…” Peter couldn’t think of anything more to say. 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re in the Spidey suit or teaching a class.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But also…” Deadpool leaned forward and whispered… “There once was a spider from Queens…”

“Stop,” Peter groaned. 

“With an ass that was nearly obscene…” 

Peter shut him up with a kiss. Wade made a surprised noise as their mouths touched, then melted into it. Their kiss was soft, and quiet, and unhurried, because each brush of their lips against the other promised an infinite number of moments like this to come. 

“I guess I better drop your class,” Wade said when they finally broke apart. 

“You better, because what I plan to do next would be highly inappropriate.” Peter leaned forward again, then stopped. “Actually, I think you have until tomorrow to drop the class. I’m not up for much more tonight.” He was dizzy again. “Too bad. You’re going to miss dehydration synthesis. Pretty exciting.”

Beside him, Wade didn’t say anything.

“Oh my god, you do think my lectures are boring!”

“Well...I mean…” 

Peter threw a pillow at him. 

Later, they cuddled on the couch, Peter’s head on Wade’s chest, Wade gently running his fingers through his hair. Peter’s eyes kept closing as he fought off sleep. The worst of the food poisoning was over, and Peter was left with only a bone deep exhaustion.

“You know,” Wade said eventually, “you never said what made you start liking me.” 

“Your smile,” Peter said automatically, then looked up when he felt Wade’s heart stutter beneath his ear. 

Wade was smiling at him. And it wasn’t one Peter had ever seen before. It wasn’t flirty, or fake, or even just friendly. 

It was one that was just for him. 

“Wow,” Peter breathed.

Wade’s smile grew even wider and he kissed Peter, muttering against his lips as he did, “That’s a pretty good start, but I gave you, like, an entire paragraph. I’m going to need to hear a bit more when you’re fully recovered.” 

Peter grinned, his face pressed against Wade’s. “I think I can manage that.” 

The next day Peter felt better, though he and Wade agreed to finish his quarantine together, just to be safe. And even with a broken TV, they found plenty to do. Namely, each other. Everyone followed the shelter in place orders and managed to flatten the curve. The hospitals were not overwhelmed. A month later, Dr. Bruce Banner made a breakthrough with an antiviral medication that lessened symptoms in severe cases. And a year and a half later, Stark Industries’ vaccine was distributed to the world free of charge. Life returned to normal. 

… Until a gelatinous blob from another dimension descended on New York City and began to swallow large sections of Midtown. 

But the Avengers had that covered. 

  
  



	4. A Bit More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finishes explaining to Wade exactly why he likes him.

“And then when you rescued all the taco stands…”

“Yeah?” Wade panted. “Keep going.”

“And… that day when you... This is harder than I expected.”

“Gasp! I’m offended.”

“I’m not talking about naming reasons I like you, Wade. I’m talking about the fact that we are trying to have sex on the ceiling.” Peter gripped tighter with his palms and feet, trying to gain traction. Wade was webbed securely in place, and merely smirked.

“What’s the point of having a boyfriend with sticky superpowers if we don’t do it upside down and in the air? Anyway, this is basically a Marvel end credits scene. Don’t want to disappoint.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Don’t worry your little head about it, sweetie. Just get me right ther—” Wade’s demand ended an in moan as Peter thrust his hips upward.

“Shh. Let me finish.” He kept a slow, steady rhythm as he continued, “...when that kid accidentally walked into the fight at that warehouse by the docks, you dropped everything to cover his eyes and get him out of there.”

Wade made an inarticulate sound and shuddered beneath him.

“When you took Black Widow out for ice cream after her girlfriend broke up with her,” Peter whispered.

“Mmmph!” Wade’s breath was coming in short quick gasps. Peter quickened the pace, snapping his hips.

“When you punched Tony in the face when he was being obnoxious during that post-battle debriefing. I pretended to be offended, but it was pretty funny.”

“I...knew...it…” Wade managed.

Peter pressed closer, his breath ghosting against Wade’s ear as he reached around to take Wade in his hand. “Right now. With you beneath me, all desperate and wanting.” With a cry, Wade came apart, his whole body convulsing. Peter stopped trying to talk, buried his face against Wade’s neck, reveling in the feel of every inch of himself being pressed against and inside Wade, thought about how happy he was, and shattered into a million pieces.

A moment later, Peter was finally able to speak again. “Wade… I—”

“I know. I love you too.”

“Um, yeah. I do. But actually, I was going to say, ‘I think there’s a crack in the ceil—’”

With a rip, a huge section of plaster came free and they crashed to the ground in a cloud of dust and drywall.

Wade spat out a chunk of ceiling. “Worth it.” 

“So worth it,” Peter mumbled from beneath Wade. Peter wiggled his hand free, raised it, and they high-fived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...that's it! Thanks for reading! Stay safe out there.


End file.
